


To Love a Poet-tree, a Treemancing oneshot

by VisceralComa



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dendrophilia, Other, Tree Sex, Treemance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceralComa/pseuds/VisceralComa
Summary: The Warden becomes enamored with the Grand Oak.Aka...someone had to write this after all the treemancing jokes on twitter. so why not.
Relationships: Brosca/The Grand Oak (Dragon Age)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	To Love a Poet-tree, a Treemancing oneshot

Brosca had never seen anything quite as glorious as them before. Trees were tall, some as tall as the very mountains she hailed from. But where mountains were wide, trees were spindled. Capered and flaring with branches that splintered into as many paths as the deep roads. Maybe even more. 

They were beautiful. The larger ones were old, as old as the very land they inhabited. It was only a pity they couldn’t talk. 

Until one did. 

The Grand Oak. The Poet tree. It spoke in rhyme and desired only the acorn. But it knew much about the world, the forest. So many memories. So much time had passed for it. Each second, day, year etched into its layers of bark. 

The stories it could tell. 

It was that reason that brought Brosca back to the forest. Back after the blight was finished and she sought this Poettree out. 

It did not attack, unlike the other sylvans, but it took it some time to recall. To remember. And then it rejoiced because it remembered she reunited it with the acorn. 

It spoke again in rhyme. Each lyrical verse perfectly formed and perfectly structured, and yet also containing a twist - a whorl- or ring. 

Brosca spent days there listening to the Sylvan. It told her stories and she told it tales. Closer and closer they grew. And closer still when flesh met bark.

Where she expected a splintered roughness, she found instead a smoothed hardened warmth of the Poettree’s affection. Though it did not stop its bark coated exterior from rubbing and splitting her flesh, it was a pain she enjoyed. Its healing sap and milkdew leaves soothed that which stung and bit her. 

And just as she ate from its fruits, she took in its seed.


End file.
